Mr Lehnsherr
by Grand Master Thief
Summary: Charles gets tricked into going to a BDSM club where he meets Dom Lehnsherr. As they say, the rest is history.


Charles isn't sure how one ends up in a place like this, but what he does know is that he's going to kill Raven for getting him into this mess. And by mess, he means the writhing mass of bodies bedecked in skin tight leather, adorned with whips, and chains, and all manner of things Charles has never seen before. The room's small with sleek floors and velvet walls. The smell of sweat and sex cling to every corner, the air thick with smoke. Charles thinks he even spots a couple tucked in a dark corner, shamelessly fucking. His stomach lurches, and he thinks, not for the first time, how he's ending his Friday night here.

There's a throb developing behind his left eye, and he knows if he doesn't get with Raven in tow soon, he's going to develop a splitting migraine. There's too many sights, sounds, and thoughts, and they're culminating to form a metaphorical battering ram attacking his mental walls. Typically, he tries to avoid places like this.

There're too many people, and while he can ignore the quiet hum of their thoughts, when there's such a large, swarming group like this concentrated in one area, he becomes overwhelmed embarrassingly easily.

Kneading the space between his brows, Charles elbows his way through a throng of people, and carves out a small corner of his own, gaze bouncing around the room of grinding bodies, and desperately looking for his younger sister, who now that he thinks on it, has no right being in a place like this. Once they get back to Westchester he'll be having some words.

It's almost impossible to see three feet in front of him, there's a snowball's chance in hell he'll be able to pick out her bouncing blonde hair beneath the flashing lights. Giving up, Charles sighs, and fortifies his crumbling shields as best he can. Pressing a fingertip to his temple, he stretches his mind out across the room, searching for Raven's distinctive mental signature.

Immediately thoughts pelt him from all sides, and he nearly crumbles. Wrangling back control, he holds them at bay, sweat breaking out across his forehead as he narrows down his focus.

 _Raven_ , he calls out gently, searching from one room to another.

For a long moment, Charles can't find her anywhere, and he feels a sharp spike of panic before her consciousness brushes against his own. The gentle slide of her mind against his dispels the mounting anxiety, and warmth unfurls in his chest. He pinpoints her location, a back rooms he didn't know about.

Withdrawing, Charles closes himself off, relieved. He hasn't found her though he knows her general direction. Straightening his blazer, Charles wades through the stifling crowd, making his way to the far left of the room where there's a single red door on the otherwise black wall.

Glancing around, and making sure no one's attention is on him, Charles quickly slips through the door, and finds himself momentarily disoriented. He's in a long, dark hallway. The only light glows an eerie dark red above him. There's a slight draft, and his skin puckers from the sudden cold. The walls are covered in the same velvet material as the main room; however, that's where their similarities end. The air's refreshing, and free of the cloying scents that turn his stomach. Blessedly, the cacophonous thoughts of the others fade, muffled somehow. His aching head gets a much needed break.

This time when he searches for Raven's consciousness, it's easy, and pain-free. He can't figure out where she's found herself, but her presence grows stronger which means she's nearby. Somewhere. It's nothing some good old-fashioned snooping won't cure.

Charles makes his way down the hallway, cautiously. When he reaches the end, he pales and immediately wants to turn around, and leave the way he came. The hallway opens to a large room that's better described as a chamber. On the far side, there are steps leading up to a raised platform on which a gilded throne sits. Charles chokes, and his eyes widen. There's a rather attractive man draping across it, a toned thigh hanging off the arm. He's wearing a pair of sinfully tight leather pants, and not much else, his broad shoulders bare. His head rests in his palm, cocked to the side as he looks out across the room with a bored expression.

There's two men – boys really, Charles' mind supplies – who are wearing thick metal collars, chains attaching them to the throne. One boy rests in front of the throne, completely naked, and there's a booted foot digging into his back, like he's a piece of human furniture. Charles flushes when he realizes the boy's cock hangs heavy with arousal between his trembling thighs, and quickly averts his gaze.

The second boy – Oh, god. The second boy…he's completely naked as well, but he's covered in piercings, and has on rather painful looking nipple clamps. He's straddling the man clearly in charge, his thin hand rubbing over the impressive looking bulge covered by those tight leather pants. His own cock is erect, a metal band wrapped around the base. Both look out of their minds with lust while the man looks like he could be watching the news instead of having two very willing bed partners.

It's when Charles stumbles back that he realizes he's not alone with the trio, and now he's garnered very much unwanted attention. His eyes swing wildly around the room, hoping Raven chooses this moment to pop up, helplessly watching as a different man breaks away from his own set of partner's, both of them left panting, and cloudy eyed as he makes his way towards Charles.

His own attire looks like it came out of a gothic romance film, covered head to toe in clinging leather, belts, and chains. The disconcerting smirk curling up the corners of his lips while he gives Charles the once over makes his stomach twist, and he nervously flutters his hands, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

"Ah, hello there…I was just on my way out," Charles manages to stutter out, gaze bouncing from room back to the man. "So, lovely meeting you, really, but I'll just be – "

"Nonsense, you just got here." The man's a good head taller than him, and warning bells go off in Charles' mind. There's something off about his smile, and his eyes look dead, hard chips of ice staring back at him from a rigid face. "I can't say I've seen you here before."

"Well, you see – I'm here with my sister – that is, first time I've been here I'm afraid. It – It's quite lovely but since she's not back here, I'll just head back out…that…way."

Before he can make his retreat, the man's hand snaps out quick as a viper, and curls around the slim bones of Charles' wrist. His thick fingers dig into the pale flesh, and Charles does his best to hide his pained grimace. His heart hammers away at his ribs, and he would really rather solve this without relying on his telepathy. It's been put under enough strain today, and honestly, he's not sure it'll even. His energy reserves are running low, and he can't hear the hum of surface thoughts anymore. Right now, he can get an impression of intense emotions, but otherwise he's flying blind. Knowing how vulnerable he is makes sweat break out across his body, and raises his anxiety. He needs to play this very, very carefully without access to his primary defense. This strange character screams danger, and Charles bets he's someone you don't want to mess with.

"Not so fast," he says, squeezing as his eyes glitter dangerously. "You're not allowed to pique my interest like that, and then run away. You can call me Master Shaw, and you are?"

"I - My name is Charles."

Apparently, that isn't the right thing to say because Shaw's gaze darkens, and his lips twist into a cruel line. The grip around his wrist feels like an unpleasant steel band, and he can feel his bones grinding together. A quiet whimper escapes his lips without his permission, and the sadistic light that enters Shaw's eyes frightens Charles so much that he starts to tremble in place.

"Not a very well-mannered sub, are you?" Shaw purrs, jerking Charles closer by his aching wrist. "Mm, I'd love to teach you."

 _Sub? What the devil?_ Charles thinks, confused.

Some of his confusion must show on his face but before Shaw says anything else, the grip around his wrist disappears, and he finds himself pulled back into the cradle of a hard, broad chest as a thick arm wraps around his waist. Charles makes a surprised, inquiring noise, trying to turn his head, and get a glance at whoever rescued him though they're much taller than him, and all he can see is miles of pale flesh.

When they speak, the rough timbre of their voice rumbles through his back, and his knees go a little weak. There's a strange accent, sliding over the words like bourbon.

"You should watch your back, Shaw," the voice says, his arm tightening around Charles' middle. "This is a safe space and you've already gotten two warnings. Any more and you'll be banned."

 _Safe space? Banned? Just what kind of club is this, and why is Raven coming here?_

Charles disregards his mounting confusion to properly enjoy the downright sour look on Shaw's face, his narrowed eyes crinkled around the edges, and his thin lips scowling at the mystery man behind him. He looks like he's smelled something particularly foul. There's a tense few minutes where Charles is caught between the two men, and their pissing contest. His shaky exhale earns him a gentle, reassuring squeeze around the middle. That firm chest plasters itself to every inch of his back.

Shaw scoffs, waving his hand through the air, almost as if he's manually dispelling the tension.

"Don't worry, Lehnsherr, I'll watch mine as long as you watch yours."

Charles can tell by the look on Shaw's face, he has no intention of doing so but then the other man turns on his heel, and stalking back to his waiting partners, and Charles leans back into the other's embrace with a shuddered breath, feeling hollowed out, his strings cut.

The arm withdraws from around his waist, and Charles feels the other man's body heat disappear. He shivers in its absence feeling all of a sudden too cold. He rubs at his arms, and turns to thank his savior though when he sees who gallantly swooped in to stop Shaw, his mouth dries up, and a horrendous blush creeps from his neck to the tips of his ears.

Standing before him, and blocking off his exit, looking painfully attractive with his intense eyes, and mop of auburn curls, is the man who was lounging in the throne like a big jungle cat. The man who was using one boy as a footstool, and letting the other boy fondle, and grope his body without a care in the world.

When he quirks a brow, smirking, Charles realizes he's been staring for a disturbingly long amount of time, and quickly back tracks.

"Uh, forgive me," Charles says, awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck, averting his gaze. "Thank you for helping me get away from – from him, from Shaw."

Those kaleidoscope eyes watch him, glittering and strangely intense. The scar at the corner of his mouth pulls at the flesh of his top lip as he flashes a sardonic grin, and his overall expression looks absolutely…hungry. Something unknown zips down Charles' spine and he shifts in place, uncomfortable but not unpleasantly so.

Humming, the stranger tips his head in Charles' direction, an unspoken acknowledgement of his thanks. He talks half a step closer, those long legs easily eating up the distance between them until a scant few inches remain between their bodies. Charles' head is level with his sharp collarbones, and if he wanted to, he could reach out and easily brush his fingertips across that toned chest. Swallowing thickly, Charles stamps down on the urge, and glances up. His gaze is immediately captured, and devoured.

A pleased rumble sounds from his throat, and a long-fingered hand raises to brush against an unruly lock of Charles' hair that keeps falling across his forehead, and into his eyes.

"It's nothing, Shaw'll get what's coming to him," with that voice, and that indomitable focus directed at him, Charles knows he's well and truly fucked. "Plus you're too pretty a thing to be wasted on him."

Knowing he's as red as a tomato, Charles nervously chuckles, glancing down at their feet. He's never been very good at accepting compliments, especially those given by rather dashing looking, half-naked men wearing impossibly tight leather trousers.

"Look at me."

Startled at the undeniable command, Charles jerks up his head.

"Mm, much better," he breathes, the broad width of his chest brushing against Charles' with every breath. "Keep those pretty eyes of yours on me."

"I – " Charles pauses, unsure of how he should respond. He's afraid he's not sure what's going on now that Shaw's left. He assumed the other would let him go on his way but it's becoming clear that isn't the case at all.

"I'm Dom Lehnsherr," he says. "But you can call me Mr. Lehnsherr."

Charles' brow crinkles in brief confusion, not quite understanding what the man means. Is Dom his first name or…? Waving away the thought as unimportant, Charles gives the other man a tentative smile, and casually offers up his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Lehnsherr," he responds. "I'm Charles."

"Hm. Charles. It fits you well."

"I – thank you?"

Lehnsherr chuckles, though the sound isn't happy, filled with gravel and cigarette smoke.

"You're quite welcome, Charles," he purrs, his lips caressing the syllables of his name.

Trying to control his blush, Charles decides that Lehnsherr's clearly in charge. Perhaps he knows where Raven's hiding, and if he doesn't, then no harm done. If he can help Charles find her, the quicker Charles can get out of this confusing place.

"Mr. Lehnsherr?"

"Yes, Charles?"

"You see, I'm looking for someone and wondered if you might have seen her?"

Lehnsherr doesn't respond immediately, appraising Charles with a strange glint in his eye. When Charles starts to fidget, he gives a shark like grin, all teeth, and places his large hand on Charles' shoulder. The area beneath his palm warms at the touch, and Charles does his best to ignore it. He doesn't have the time to explore this interesting development at the current moment.

"Maybe. When don't we go into one of the back rooms and talk?" Lehnsherr says, already steering

Charles towards a well-hidden door he hadn't noticed when he first came in, too preoccupied with the other…sights. "I can help you find her."

Lehnsherr leads Charles down another hallway, and into another room. The door closes behind them with a resounding noise that echoes back at Charles with a finality that makes his pulse spike. He worries at his lower lip, doubting for the first time that trusting Lehnsherr is the right thing to do. The room is open, and just as dimly lit as the rest of the club. There's a long leather couch taking up the back wall but the rest of the furniture isn't meant for sitting, at least not comfortably.

Charles swallows roughly, glancing at a strange contraption that's a wooden x of some sort shoved into one of the corners, the four shackles winking back at him from the crossbars. He spots the whips and crops hanging on the wall, wary. Charles likes a nice pair of handcuffs like any other bloke, but this…this he's not even sure what it is but he knows it's worlds away from anything he's ever participated in. Stepping backwards, he slams into the firm line of Lehnsherr's body.

"You know," Charles says, licking his dry lips. "Perhaps Raven's back out by the bar. I should go - "

Heavy hands land on his shoulders, calloused thumbs dragging across the delicate skin of his neck as Lehnsherr halts his retreat, lips brushing against the shell of his ear as he whispers, "Now, now, Charles. There's no need to run."

Fighting against the shiver that zips down his spine, Charles tries to move away from the other man, laughing anxiously.

"No, I'm not running, Mr. Lehnsherr. I'm just worried about my sister and I really should – "

"Hush," Lehnsherr growls into his ear, sturdy hips brushing against the swell of Charles' ass.

"Surely, she can handle herself for a few more minutes."

Charles protests, wiggling away from Lehnsherr and turning to look up at him, resolutely ignoring the redness of his cheeks.

"I'm sure she can but I can't help worrying, trouble that one is."

Lehnsherr smirks, his eyes amused and predatory at the same time. It's a strange, heady combination that makes Charles his lip to stop the groan of appreciation. Though this is hardly the time, he'd be daft not to recognize Lehnsherr's attractiveness. In another time and place he would happily pursue this strange tension between them if Raven wasn't running amok. Her safety is his main priority so his libido takes a backseat, even though he secretly wishes that's not the case.

The other man looks absolutely criminal with his intense eyes, solid body, and snug trousers.

"Tell me, are you a mutant, Charles?"

The abrupt question startles him but he answers honestly, as he always does. Being a mutant is not shameful.

"Ah, yes, I am," Charles says, grinning. "Telepath."

Lehnsherr's eyes flash and suddenly his rough fingers are grasping Charles' chin, tilting up his head. He scans Charles' face greedily, ravaging every freckle, every sweep of his eyelashes, gulping down the impossible blue of his eyes.

"How fascinating," the other man purrs.

Charles stares back, feeling utterly devoured. He attempts to pull his chin free but he doesn't get very far, Lehnsherr's fingers tighten their grip, unwilling to let him go.

"I – thank you, my friend. Are you a mutant as well?"

Smirking devilishly, Lehnsherr drags his thumb across the rosy flesh of Charles' bottom lip, approval shining in his eyes when Charles breathes in sharply at the touch. For a moment, everything fades out and all Charles knows is the rough finger against his mouth and the sudden hunger that cuts through him.

Crowding close, Lehnsherr keeps their gazes locked and he's so close Charles can feel the moist puffs of air as he responds, voice full of whiskey and smoke, "Let's just say I'm quite handy with metal."

"Metal – truly? Why that's utterly amaz – "

Lehnsherr interrupts, twining one of those broad arms around his waist once more, "Do you have any limits I should know about?"

Bewildered, Charles frowns at Lehnsherr and tries to puzzle out what the other man is talking about, only to come up empty. This entire night's been filled with nothing but confusion and Lehnsherr could give him whiplash with how quickly he changes subjects.

"Limits? I – no, not that I'm aware of?" Charles asks more than says, the point of this conversation utterly unknown to him.

If any of his confusion is plain to see, Lehnsherr ignores it, pulling him closer.

"Hm, simple, I like that."

"Um, thank you?"

"What about safe words, any one you like to use in particular?"

"I don't – no."

One second, Charles is staring into those shifting eyes and the next he's spun around, Lehnsherr a line of heat pressed against his back. One of those beautiful, long-fingered hands wraps around Charles' throat and there's a bright pinprick of panic before Lehnsherr nips at his ear, grinding the impressive length of his hardening cock against Charles' ass.

"Safe word's magneto," he growls, running his nose along the length of the smaller man's neck.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of you."


End file.
